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Time Travels with Truffle: Dateline August 19th, 43 BC – Hall of
the Curia Julia, Senate Chamber - Rome
The marble pillars of the Curia Julia rose like solemn
guardians over the Senate of Rome. Senators filled the chamber in a tense
semicircle, their white togas glowing in the morning light. At the center stood
Gaius Octavian, Caesar’s heir — young, composed, and holding his small reddish‑orange
Pomeranian, Truffle, whose bright eyes scanned the room with uncanny alertness.
Above them, lining the upper gallery, stood troops of
Caesar’s legions — not ceremonial guards, but hardened veterans of Gaul and
Spain. Their armor gleamed, their hands rested on the hilts of their gladii,
and their presence pressed upon the chamber like a physical weight.
Octavian raised his hand, his voice steady and commanding.
“Fathers of the Senate, Rome requires a Consul who can restore order and defend
the Republic.”
The senators exchanged uneasy glances. Some admired him;
others feared him. But the legionaries above — silent, disciplined, watchful —
made hesitation dangerous.
The vote was cast.
Octavian was elected Consul of Rome.
A ripple of reluctant applause moved through the chamber.
The young heir had secured the Republic’s highest office.
Truffle wagged her tail.
But Octavian was not finished.
Octavian’s expression sharpened. “There is another matter,”
he said. “The assassins of Julius Caesar — Brutus, Cassius, and their
accomplices — must be declared traitors to Rome. They must be hunted down and
brought to justice.”
A low murmur rolled through the chamber. No one objected
directly — not yet — but the discomfort was palpable. Many senators had been
friends of Brutus. Some had quietly supported the conspirators. Declaring them
traitors meant condemning their own allies.
Octavian let the murmuring swell for a moment.
Then he asked, clearly and coldly: “Who will speak against
the motion?”
The murmurs grew louder — not quite defiance, but the
beginnings of it.
Truffle’s ears perked.
Suddenly, Truffle barked — sharp, loud, and echoing through
the marble chamber like a divine command.
Instantly, the legionaries responded. Dozens of soldiers
drew their swords in perfect unison, the metallic ring slicing through the air
like lightning.
The senators froze.
Scrolls dropped.
Breaths caught.
Octavian did not move. He simply stood there — calm,
imperial, unyielding — with Truffle nestled in his arm like a tiny herald of
fate.
Then Octavian spoke again, his voice quiet but cutting: “If
a motion is to be made against the resolution, do not tell it to me — tell it
to them. Caesar’s loyal troops.”
Silence fell so completely that even the torches seemed to
stop crackling.
The vote was carried unanimously. No voices rose. No
objections were spoken. Only the scratching of the scribes’ styluses broke the
silence.
Brutus, Cassius, and the assassins of Julius Caesar were
declared traitors to Rome.
Octavian inclined his head slightly — victory without a
battle. Truffle barked once more, softer this time, almost triumphant.
The legionaries sheathed their swords.
Rome had chosen its future.
Historians would later say the Republic ended not with a
civil war, but with a vote cast under the gaze of Caesar’s veterans. But in the
legends whispered through centuries, they would say that when Truffle barked,
the Senate trembled, the traitors were condemned, and the Empire began to rise.
And once again, History is gently guided by a tiny
paw.
